Everything Appears To Be Under Control
by Billie Marie
Summary: This story is based on the reporter, Bill Cardille's line, "Everything appears to be under control." My original character explains why the zombie situation is not under control. See author's note for a more complete explanation.
1. Chapter 1

**Everything Appears To Be Under Control**

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Author's note:

One of my favorite movies is _Night Of The Living Dead_. This fan fiction is based on the line in the film when the reporter, Bill Cardille, after interviewing Sheriff McClelland - the leader of the ghoul search and destroy team - says, "Everything appears to be under control."

As we know by now, the situation doesn't remain under control for very long and the result is zombies taking over as seen in George Romero's subsequent films.

This story explores the concept of control. What is it? Why do we need it? Why do we think we have it? Do we ever really have it? How can we lose it and what happens when we lose it...all set within the time period of _Night Of The Living Dead_. The narrator is unidentified. He or she is just trying to survive.

Hope you enjoy it.

Finally, I don't own the characters or concepts in any of George Romero's zombie movies and the definitions of control come from Google.


	2. Chapter 2

**Everything Appears To Be Under Control**

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"Everything appears to be under control."

That's what we were told by reporters on the radio and television when the crisis first hit.

Control...what is that anyway? Let's see...

"To eliminate or prevent the flourishing or spread of..."

That's what the search and destroy teams tried to do. They combed cities and towns, looking around and inside of private homes and public buildings. They beat and blasted the monsters down.

The teams had more success in rural areas than they did in urban centers.

"To test or verify"...

That's what the scientists and doctors did when reports came in from survivors saying that their recently dead family members, friends or neighbors had come back to life and attacked them. Of course, the scientists called such reports the result of "mass hysteria". The dead just don't come back to life...

Until, of course, while examining dead victims, the bodies got up and attacked the scientists and doctors...some of whom never got to make their reports.

As for those scientists and doctors that didn't get bitten or eaten by their test subjects, they tried to find ways to destroy the "unburied dead".

"Unburied dead?" Doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, does it? No wonder news reporters and the public started calling the monsters ghouls or zombies, though neither term is precisely correct. A ghoul is an evil spirit that eats dead flesh, not living, and a zombie doesn't eat flesh at all. A zombie is actually a living person doing the bidding of a witch doctor. I choose to call them zombies. I find it ironic that something that is controlled, is now controlling us.

If you didn't already guess, I'm a definition freak. Guess I'm not the only one because a lot of people tried to define and name what was going on.

Like that gave them more control. Isn't that why we name everything around us - from places to events, to people and groups of people, to animals? Like naming and defining gives us a handle on things. Allows us to understand better, which allows us some control.

But you can't define the indefinable. You can't understand the non-understandable. The stuff that, as far as you know, has never happened before. So you do the best you can, but you can't control it.

And you try to eliminate it. Through testing, by trial and error I would think, it was discovered that the zombies were afraid of fire and could be destroyed by destroying the brain. Which, let's face it, if you can't shoot, and if you're not strong enough to swing a heavy club or axe, is easier said than done. You can run. The zombies are slow moving, but isn't that just avoiding the issue?

I was lucky. My father had insisted I learn to shoot. His father had taught him and so on and so on, I'm sure. I didn't want to learn, but as a kid, you don't have much control over your life...no matter how many tantrums you throw.

"You'll find shooting a more useful skill than a lot of what you learn in school," my father said.

I didn't agree with him then. And I threw myself into my studies. English, history and biology were my favorites.

Now I know my father was right about shooting. Zombies don't understand or communicate in English. They end history instead of preserve it and biology does little good when they're not alive. Shooting's the only thing that makes sense.

I guess math has been the most useful school subject. I understand trajectory and how variables such as wind can affect my shot. And, of course, a dozen zombies minus a half dozen bullets equals big trouble.

And that, and a lack of knowledge, ultimately made it impossible to follow another definition of control...

"To hold in check, to curb."

You can't hold zombies in check without the right weapons or knowing how to use them. Guns are best, I think, because you don't have to get close. But they're noisy and zombies have great hearing. And guns aren't any good without ammo. Clubs are less noisy but puts you at risk to be bitten. Machetes are fairly good, but keep them sharp. Zombie heads and necks are less easy to cut into and sever than you'd think. Knives...I wouldn't advise those at all, but if it's all you've got, aim for the eyes and ears.

Knowledge of such weapons will help, but what we needed when the crisis first hit was knowledge of just what we were dealing with. We figured out the monsters were dead. We figured out their dead victims would rise. We found out how to destroy them...

We didn't know that people who survived, but were bitten, would die and come back. I don't know for sure, but if it was the radiation from the Venus probe that caused the dead to rise (and great job on the space scientist's part in thinking they could curb the radiation by destroying the probe), , then the radiation must have created something similar to a virus that could be passed on by a bite.

That's why hospitals couldn't control the crisis. People seeking medical treatment swarmed hospitals and died from the zombie bites, no matter how minor.

And that's why the rescue shelters proved useless. Injured people entered with the uninjured, died and revived, and had many possible victims. Like with my parents...

But I can't think about that right now...

When the shelter my parents and I went to was overrun, I ran. And now, I'm no longer some middle-class college kid too smart for my own good. I hardly know anything anymore. I don't know if this crisis will end, when it will end or if I'll even know if it's ended. I know I won't know the date. Even if I saw a calendar, it wouldn't be turned to the right month. I don't know how I'll live; just know that I want to live period. I don't know what I'll eat or if I will, but if I do, it will probably be out of a can. I don't know if I'll ever wear any clothes other than the few in my sack and what's on my back. I don't know if I'll ever be clean again. I don't even know if I can sleep. I always have to stay alert. I want to jump at every noise...

Sorry. I thought I heard something.

I'm sitting in someone's shed. It's not secured, but nothing's secure. I won't barricade it. That'll give me a false sense of safety. Plus, the noise I would make might attract zombies. It's better to remain quiet and be ready to run.

I am ready, but till then, I'll write down my thoughts in the notebook I packed when my parents and I left for the shelter. Writing is a comfort to me. It's only for me. I don't expect anybody to read this, but if someone does, I hope he or she will excuse my rambling. I have no control over my thoughts either.

I am trying to keep what little control I have left. That's why I don't plan to meet up with other survivors...if there are any nearby. More people tend to attract more zombies. And inside groups, somebody always seems to try to take control...

"To exercise restraint, or direction over, dominate, command"...

It happened in the shelter. Policemen tried to resttrain those who got too rowdy, and people did as they tried to get medical attention for their loved ones. Of course, medical personnel tried to direct things, taking the most critical cases first. That's why my mom wasn't a priority. She only had a bite on her hand, not a head or face wound or a missing limb. It wasn't until she went into a coma that the medical staff took notice...

I suppose, if the bitten in the shelter hadn't become zombies and attacked or zombies from the outside didn't get us first, that in time, we would have set up our own little community. A community in which the stronger would dominate and command the weaker. The stronger would decide how much food and water we all got. And if they didn't act fairly, they might have determined who lived and died...

But it's really the zombies in control now. They are preventing us from flourishing. They verify if we are living and curb us with their endless appetites for our flesh. They now direct and dominate our lives. In fact, as long as they 'live', we are dead...

I definitely heard a noise now. Knocking...shuffling...it's time to go. If anyone ever does read this, take from it what you will, but don't necessarily do what I do. Be in control of your own life...

As much as you can be.

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Author's note:

I have decided not to determine the fate of my character yet. I may revisit this story at some point.

If you, the reader, choose to believe if my character lives or dies, feel free to do so and tell me about it.

I look forward to reading any thoughts, comments and reviews.

Thanks.


End file.
